


Things that Lurk in the Shadows

by CassieWolfe



Series: In the Shadows (Dark Batfam Au) [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Batfamily (DCU), BAMF Damian Wayne, Batfamily (DCU), Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canon-Typical Violence, Clark Kent Being an Asshole, Codependency, Creepy Batfamily (DCU), Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Hal Jordan Being an Asshole, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage, Isolated Batfamily (DCU), Oliver Queen Being an Asshole, Oliver Queen is Bad at Feelings, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Protective Bruce Wayne, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieWolfe/pseuds/CassieWolfe
Summary: Clark Kent may be Superman, one of Earth's Greatest Heroes, but even he has fears. And one of those fears just walked into the Watchtower: the Batfamily. A group of dark, murderous vigilantes, those looking too deeply into their business tend to disappear.Fortunately, Batman didn't want to join the Justice League. Just imagining it gives Clark nightmares.
Relationships: Barry Allen & Oliver Queen, Batfamily Members & Clark Kent, Batfamily Members & Justice League (DCU), Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Series: In the Shadows (Dark Batfam Au) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911553
Comments: 174
Kudos: 1252





	1. Things that Lurk in the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> A note on ages: in this, Bruce is 31, Dick's 20, Jason's 17, Tim's 15 and Damian is 10. Canon is semi-similar (and I might write more later, so no spoilers) but after Jason's death Bruce went off the rails and killed the Joker. He found out Jason had come back, and took Dick and Tim to bring him back, collecting Damian in the process. Jason was brought back by Talia as a bodyguard/brother to Damian, so he's very protective.
> 
> Review if you want an actual plot! Otherwise, this stays a one-shot. I tried writing from a Bat's perspective (Jason's, incidentally) but the whole story turned from “dark, bitter chocolate” to “fluffy marshmallows” and that just wasn't what I was aiming for. Apparently, I can't write Batfamily without exploring the fluffier side of their dynamic.
> 
> Also, be aware that in this, the Justice League in general and Superman in particular are portrayed as a bit... unobservant. Biased. Obtuse. They aren't bad people, or even bad heroes, they're just not the brightest.
> 
> EDIT: I got such a response, I turned this into a multi-chapter character study. If you have specific prompts for this story, feel free to comment them.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Batman's steel-soled boots hit the Watchtower floor with unsettling rhythm, marking his measured stride. Despite himself, Clark Kent tensed. None of the League were really comfortable around the Bats, but he had it worse than most – he was the host, the one to greet Batman and ensure his comfort while in the base. That meant – _shudder_ – interacting with the Dark Knight.

_T-tap. T-tap. T-tap._

A second pair of steps joined the first, just out of sync. From the weight, Clark guessed it was Red Hood, the most unstable of a generally creepy family. Tall, heavy and muscular, amply armed with guns and knives, he was the only Bat Clark would admit frightened him. It was his death that had sent Batman over the edge into killing, stringing the Joker up over an intersection as a clear warning. _Don't mess with my family._

_Ta-t-tap. Ta-t-tap. Ta-t-tap._

Three, now. Nightwing had joined his brother and father. While physically far less intimidating than the first two, there was something about the lithe vigilante – his eyes, his dark jokes, his flamboyant movements – that screamed irrational. Insane, even. A dark, twisting something that told you,  _I may be playing nice now, but step out of line and you will suffer._ Using his toned body, striking eyes and low, rasping voice to his advantage, Nightwing was the quintessential rake, terrifying and enthralling every hero he met.

_Click-ta-t-tap. Click-ta-t-tap. Click-ta-t-tap._

The fourth of five had shown up. Slim, graceful Red Robin, with a mind to surpass even Batman's and a temper to match; cold, calculating, but with icy fury always simmering beneath the surface. Red Robin could easily hack the station's computers – had before, in fact. He wasn't as obviously menacing as the others, his calm facade rarely broken, but when he did let his true colours show, it was terrifying. It didn't help, of course, how the others were ridiculously overprotective of the third Robin.

_Click-ta-t-tap. Click-ta-t-tap. Click-ta-t-tap._

Wait. Red Robin. Red Hood. Nightwing. Batman. Where was Robin? There should be a fifth tap in each sequence, one terribly threatening, if lighter than the others. A fifth vigilante, small and scowling, always seeming far too young for such a life.

Clark, as always, broke first. He stood and turned to face the Bats, brought up short by the sight of the missing Robin safely ensconced in Red Hood's arms. (He probably shouldn't have been so surprised – ever since his appearance, Red Hood had been devoted to the newest Robin.) As he stared, brain momentarily frozen in,  _wait, what?_ mode, the child made a little keening noise, apparently a cue for the bulky man to heft Robin higher, shifting him to the other hip.

Robin responded by moaning grumpily and pressing his face into Hood's neck. Glaring all the while, Batman reached over to run a hand through his son's hair. His face practically dared Clark to comment.

“...Welcome back to the station,” Clark said, considering his words carefully. “Would you like me to call a meeting, or is this an informal visit?” With the Bat family, you never knew what might be the word or insinuation to send them over the edge from _aloof_ to _actively homicidal_.

“Just wanted to have a look at one of your meta files,” Batman replied flatly.

Clark didn't ask why all five of them were there. Outside Gotham, one Bat meant all the Bats. If you were lucky, they came openly and didn't lurk in the shadows, waiting to leap out at poor, unwary superheroes. (Yes, Clark had Bat issues. Yes, he had a right to them.) He didn't ask why Batman needed the file; if the dark vigilante wanted to explain, he would do so.

It was never a good idea to look too closely into Gotham business. The statistics spoke for themselves: six years ago, before Batman appeared, Gotham had the highest crime rate in the US. Now, they weren't even in the top fifty. It got weird when you considered that the murder rate hadn't dropped nearly as much... and that many of those murders showed a jagged wound, as if caused by, say, a bat-shaped throwing knife.

There was never proof, of course, but the rumours ran rampant. It did no good to appeal to the police; the Bats were Gotham's darlings, and even the insinuation that they might be criminals didn't go over well.

It took a certain type of person to live in Gotham. In that, the darkest of cities, you locked your doors and did your business quickly. You carried a weapon and stayed inside at night. In Metropolis, if you walked down the street, you might see kids playing in the park, folk shopping or rushing to work. In Gotham, the streets would be empty. A few women on street corners, a couple of thugs in an alley, but otherwise? Not a soul.

Gotham was a harsh mistress, and few outsiders survived long inside her borders. Constantly she tested you, sending new challenges every day. You adapted, if you could, or she found you lacking. Even the United States government wouldn't touch her; within her boundaries lay a dark labyrinth of crime and pain.

And watching over it all, the Bats. Five dark knights. A family of guardian angels-

Clark was jerked rudely from his thoughts by hot breath of his neck.

“ _Boo!_ ” Nightwing hissed. When Clark whipped around, the vigilante was slinking away with a triumphant grin. Malicious twin cackles echoed from the doorway where Nightwing's brothers waited. Clark pressed a hand to his heart, feeling his breathing slowly return to normal. Why, why must they take such delight in tormenting him?

Since the day they met, all four brothers constantly chose him as their target. _Why me?_ he wondered, not for the first time. _Why not Wonder Woman or Flash? Why not Green Arrow or Zatanna? Maybe they're just sadistic._

And these were the vigilantes his family idolized. Jon, Conner and Kara all dreamed of meeting the Bats – but then, it seemed a common theme among the younger cast of heroes. Clark seemed to recall Green Arrow ranting about how Arsenal would rather spend his nights on the roofs of Gotham than patrolling Starling City, and Flash had mentioned that both his kids jumped at any opportunity to run errands in the dark city.

It was an interesting phenomenon. “No metas in Gotham,” Batman had said. “No _adult_ metas in Gotham,” Batman had meant. Any adult hero, even a human one like the Arrow, was picked up and dumped outside city limits if they dared to enter, while their kids were allowed in at will. As a result, the Teen Titans ran a lot of messages in. (Another annoying Bat quirk: not giving out cell numbers.)

Miss Martian was the only junior superhero to be denied access to Gotham – probably because of her telepathy. It would be far too easy for her to find out their identities; Clark noted that they tended to avoid Martian Manhunter as well.

As the ominous footsteps returned, Clark sat up quickly, focusing on the computer monitors. It wouldn't do for the Bats to suspect he'd been contemplating them. This time, they passed through without speaking to him, thankfully. The moment the zeta tube deactivated after sending the five creepy vigilantes home, he collapsed back into his chair.

Thank god Batman had declined to formally join the Justice League.


	2. Not So Scary, After All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrolling Gotham with Damian, Dick muses on the Justice League, and remembers his own introduction to Wayne Manor.
> 
> Why can't supers understand that the Bats are trying to protect them? They do their best, and all they get in return is fear. Rude, really.
> 
> I had a chapter 3 on this, but it's been taken down and made into a new work, called By Your Bedside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to point out that in early comics, before the introduction of Robin, Batman had no qualms about killing criminals. I'm simply getting in touch with younger him...
> 
> So my characterizations are a bit eclectic. Flash is from the 2014 TV show and Green Arrow from the 2012 one. Batman looks like Christian Bale's portrayal, (Batman Begins) but for this is closer to the early comics in personality. Nightwing looks something like Brenton Thwaites, but his character comes from the comics and a lot (lot) of fanfiction, as do the other Bats. Superman is from the 1938 comics, and other characters are mostly just from clips and the 2010 show Young Justice.
> 
> This became very rambling, so I'm sorry. I'm not as happy with it as with the first one, but it's my response to several people asking for more. It's not exactly fluff, but it is giving you a glimpse into a Bat's perspective.

Dick Grayson, better known as Nightwing, swung up onto the roof of an apartment building, performing a so-called superhero landing without even thinking. Surveying Gotham City with satisfaction, he smiled. Saving people was hard, exhausting, often thankless work, but on nights like this, it really paid off. In every one of those lit windows, there was a happy civilian, unaware of the danger lurking outside their locked door.

Okay, in Gotham said civilians were a lot less naive, but still. If even one kid had a happy, carefree childhood due to Dick's night job (more like only job – he didn't exactly need the money,) it would be worth it. If even one woman didn't have to experience a man attacking and violating her, or one family didn't have to bury their father, it would all be worth it.

His comm crackled, interrupting his musings.

“ _Nightwing, this is Batman. We've got Green Arrow in Cathedral Square; I need you to get him out of Gotham.”_

Dick snorted. “Did Arsenal join Hood on patrol again?”

_ “Probably. You know how they are.” _

“Really gay and not admitting it?”

Bruce's silence sounded somehow judgmental. Then the comms came alive again, and Dick realized why. _“You're going down for that, Nightwing,”_ Jason said threateningly.

“Fine, you win,” Dick pouted. “I'm taking Robin, though. I don't want to face Arrow alone.”

_ “Where is Robin?” _ Jason asked. _“He was supposed to stick close to you.”_

“He headed over a couple of streets to work out his excess anger on some unfortunate mugger.”

_ “He doesn't have his comms!” _ fretted Jason. _“You can't just leave him.”_

“It's all fine,” Dick dismissed, “I can literally see him from here.”

Swinging down to land beside Damian, Dick grinned when his little brother startled.

“What are you _doing_ , Grayson?”

“Names,” Dick reminded him. “I got a call from B – we're heading to Cathedral to chase off Green Arrow.”

“Did that imbecile Todd insists on associating with intrude again?”

Used to Damian's manner, the older vigilante simply smiled. “Don't worry, Robin. Hood will make sure to still have time for you, even if he patrols with Arsenal regularly. Besides, you're hanging out with Superboy all the time now.”

With dignity, the boy responded, “I simply do it to annoy Superman. It's not like I enjoy the ingrate's company.”

“Sure,” Dick snorted, but left it at that, pulling his grapple gun to head over. Time and tide and vigilantism wait for no man, after all.

It was a complicated relationship the Bats shared with other heroes. While the younger kids – the two Superboys, Kid Flash, Impulse, Arsenal and more – idolized the darker, more “edgy” (their words, not Dick's) Batfamily, the League tended to distrust them. And with good reason; Batman was brutal in his methods, and tended to come across as... dictatorial. The _Bats_ knew he wasn't like that, and the young heroes had mostly figured it out, but the League was just spectacularly unobservant.

Dick did mean that literally: more than once, he'd helped Batman save the world before the League even knew there was something wrong (and they'd never figured it out, either.) It wasn't that they were bad heroes, exactly... they all had plenty of courage and righteousness and tragic backstory, and between the lot of them, they could even come up with a decent plan of attack sometimes. They just weren't _perceptive_.

Not to mention their tendency to allow morals to get in the way of doing what was necessary. Not that Dick liked to kill, exactly, but he'd helped Bruce with the Joker, and it wasn't all that hard. If _he_ had X-ray vision, when faced with an unknown quantity he wouldn't hesitate to sneak a peek under said quantity's mask.

_ Ah well. I suppose I should be grateful for Superman's principles, considering without them I'd be unmasked several times over. _

Dick stumbled as he jumped for the next roof, momentarily pulled from his thoughts as he tried not to fall. A moment later, Damian joined him, a mocking grin tugging at his lips when he landed perfectly. Shrugging, Dick accepted the inevitable teasing his almost-mistake would grant him. It wasn't like he didn't have enough material for years of blackmail.

That was another thing the League refused to see: the teasing, the joking, the constant, unwavering _support_ that came with becoming a Bat. When Dick first became Robin, it was just Bruce, Alfred and himself in a mansion meant for many more. Bruce was angry and still grieving his parents, but he always did his best for Dick. Even when Dick yelled at him, when he admitted he couldn't read English any better than he could speak it, when he refused to let B in, still the man persevered.

And when Jason came, hurt and lonely and scared, Bruce managed him too, managed the stealing and the hiding and the truly _abysmal_ table manners. The kid from Crime Alley flourished from it, at least for the few months before the Joker... attacked him. Even after three years, Dick couldn't think the word _killed_ – it simply hurt too much, to admit that his first brother had been murdered before Dick ever got a chance to know him. If Jason hadn't come back, Dick would never have learned how he prefers books to movies, or (traitor) hates Alfred's waffles.

Then, of course, there was Tim, their self-destructive little Robin. For months after moving in, he flinched when Bruce talked to him, but eventually they managed to get through to him. (B totally bribed the kid with fancy coffee, even if he will forever deny it.) When Tim had nightmares or panic attacks, Bruce was always there. Sometimes Dick wished the League was, too. Then maybe they'd see the Bats as people and not monsters.

He startled out of his thoughts suddenly, realizing he was perched atop the cathedral roof, overlooking the spot Green Arrow sat patiently. At least he'd realized it was best to wait for the Bats to come find him, even if staying out of Gotham entirely was too much to ask.

Why couldn't other supers understand that the rule was for their benefit? They weren't prepared for Gotham, and the dark city was full of enterprising crime lords who'd love to bag a member of the League. It was hard enough to keep their lesser-known kids safe, adding the famous heroes into the mix was asking for disaster.

Sighing, Dick flipped off the roof to confront the Arrow yet again.


	3. Revenge of the Adorable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As established, the Bats are scary, eerie folk. But one of the five doesn't exactly engender terror in all who look upon him - a reputation not improved by Jason's habit of carrying him around like a stuffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before Green Lantern fans start yelling at me, let me explain my reasoning for using Hal Jordan as my antagonist: while his live action movie is one of the most universally reviled, even in the comics he's a somewhat disturbing character. To take his revenge on the villain who destroyed his home, he becomes Parallax and kills many other Green Lanterns – yes, it's later revealed that Parallax was an ancient entity possessing him, but that was all retconned – and that's not even touching the whole “dating a 13-year-old he looks on like a sister” thing.
> 
> Basically, I like him almost as little as I do MCU's Captain America – which is to say, on my list of superheroes he's barely above than the guy who murdered around 14 thousand people onscreen and left his teammate and friend to die of hypothermia-slash-shrapnel-to-the-heart after breaking Iron Man's arc reactor. So, not very high.
> 
> (I do prefer him to Scarlet Witch, though. If I had control over Marvel, I would kill her, resurrect her, and kill her again. There is no fanfiction I write in which she gets a redemption arc. In fact, there is no fanfiction I write in which she, you know, survives.)

Batman was terrifying. It was the one thing pretty much everyone over the age of twenty in the meta and superhero community could agree on. He was a dark knight with a disturbing tendency to collect children and (at least in the eyes of the Justice League) corrupt them, teaching them to follow him without question. To tell the truth, that reputation's veracity wasn't all that important; the point was, it existed.

Under Batman's careful guidance, three eerie little Robins had become three fearsome vigilantes, lithe and uncanny, with their quick, smooth movements and skilled fighting style that made the most difficult of moves appear effortless. Three sons who scared even Superman, who could take down the worst villains the Rogues' Gallery had to offer with ease, who walked in the shadows and exchanged secret smiles when the League found excuses to be anywhere but with them.

There was one Bat, however, who had never enjoyed his counterparts' infamy: Robin IV. Damian Wayne. No superhero had ever run from _his_ scowl. Instead, they patted him on the head and told him to stay safe. It was actually, to some extent, a convenient ruse for him to use against them – they never guessed how dangerous he actually was.

 _It might be pleasant, though_ , he grumbled internally, _if they were to flee me as they do my brothers. It is as if they don't believe I can do any serious damage to them – though I have demonstrated my ability in the sparring ring and out._

The fact was, the latest Robin simply wasn't very intimidating. Standing only four feet five inches and with a frame that in Nightwing was called 'willowy' and in Red Robin 'trim' but in him 'scrawny', villains had a troublesome tendency to laugh when faced with his twin katana.

The mocking, the teasing; he'd heard it all. The comments on his too-deadly weapons and too-colourful costume, on his small size and dark skin and foreign accent. But worst of all, the distressingly common occurrence of being called _cute_ by women. Everyone from Wonder Woman to Poison Ivy and even his father's useless secretary seemed to feel the need to point out how _adorable_ he was.

And being underestimated led to situations like _this_.

“Leave Gotham,” he told Green Lantern firmly. He'd confidence in his training, of course, but it would be handy if arguably one of the most powerful supers out there were a _little_ more wary of him.

Case in point: Green Lantern – unanimously agreed the most annoying hero in the League – simply sneered at him and said condescendingly, “Of course, when Batman stops sending toddlers to fight for him.”

“I warn you,” Damian said, voice twisting into something dark and ugly, “if you do not depart now, you will taste my blades in combat. And if you do not apologize for your insult, I will leave you with a permanent scar.”

Snickering, Green Lantern didn't even bother to prepare for an attack; it was laughably easy for Damian to launch himself at the green-clad super and, drawing both swords while still in the air, slash downwards to – because he'd been _trying_ to kill less, trying _so hard_ – sink one keen blade into his shoulder. It bit deep, and Green Lantern yelled in pain.

“Aah!” he screamed, enraged. “Get off me, you little Bat freak!”

Damian's eyes narrowed. Any notion of mercy vanished from his mind. His katana flashed, drawing blood twice before Green Lantern stumbled back and raised his ring to defend himself from the onslaught.

“I am Robin,” Damian snarled, “son of Batman and grandson of Ra's al Ghul, heir of the Demon Head, and you _go too far_.”

The other man finally managed to conjure his constructs, but his willpower was wavering under the infuriated glare of his opponent. A mad grin stretched across Robin's masked face at the tell-tale shiver of fear running through his opponent. _Fear_. The one weakness of a Green Lantern.

His swords ripped through the green constructs blocking him from his target. His movements an unnatural blur, Damian _destroyed_ Green Lantern. Hacking at the infuriating green costume, his normal too-graceful fighting style was made brutal by rage. Barely pulling back from a killing blow, he instead stabbed the point of his blade through his adversary's shoulder and _twisted._

So deep in his haze of rage, he barely noticed when his brother's hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

“That's enough, Robin,” Red Hood's deep voice intoned. He sneered down at the man bleeding on the ground. “And don't think I didn't hear what you called my brother. You better hope you never need a Bat's help, because from now, you're on our shit list. Get out of Gotham _now_ , and if I ever see you again, I will end you.”

“I assure you,” Green Lantern groaned from the concrete curb, “the feeling is mutual.”

He struggled to his feet and limped off, the two Bats watching him leave with cruel satisfaction.

“Well done.” Jason dropped a hand heavily on Damian's shoulder. “He should know he can't get away with this in Gotham.”

“Are you not going to lecture me?” Damian asked, hating how his voice quivered.

“No,” Jason replied. “I think you know that you went a little far, and you don't need me to tell you that. You're not hurt, and he's still alive; I'd say you showed extraordinary restraint.”

With that, he reached down to swing Damian onto his hip, ruffling his hair with one gloved hand – an irritating gesture he persisted in only because of how it annoyed the younger vigilante.

“Come on, short stuff,” he teased. “Let's go find Nightwing and Red Robin – finish the patrol together. Sound good?”

Damian didn't bother to respond, grinning up at his protector's lurid red mask. He might have to face off against the best and worst Earth had to offer, but his family would always be there beside him.


	4. Not A Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superman's only focus is saving the kid. Nightwing isn't to be trusted with a child - only problem is, said child doesn't exactly agree. Even the Man of Steel can be defeated, if his opponent is a small, screaming seven-year-old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Impossibly_Crazy, who commented and made a suggestion for a chapter. Said idea grabbed me, and here we are.
> 
> On a side note, _In the Shadows _was never intended to be more than a one-shot, and now it's four chapters and a side story! Wow! All the people commenting and bookmarking and subscribing really inspired me to continue.__

Superman, Man of Steel, protector of the innocent, bounded across Metropolis, a small smile on his face. Days like this, with the wind in his face and the sun beating down on his back, it was all worth it. Worth keeping his identity secret from those he loved best, worth never having a moment to relax, worth all the sleepless nights and missed meals. Saving the world might be necessary, but it was nothing compared to the rush of patrolling his city, his _home_.

Landing heavily on a building, his sensitive ears picked up on two heartbeats in an alleyway, two sets of heavy breathing. Normally, he'd ignore it, but one set was familiar. Too familiar. He edged closer and peeked down into the street.

Superman's eyes widened. Crouched in the alley below him, Nightwing smirked viciously at a little girl – a child no older than seven. To any other observer, the expression on the vigilante's face would be simply a smile, but six years had taught Clark never to trust a Bat, no matter how innocent he may seem. Nightwing stretched out a hand, and the girl extended her own smaller one to take it–

No. This dark hero, this fallen angel wouldn't entice another child into his life of crime and hate. Not in _his_ city. Superman leapt down into the alley. Startling, Nightwing jerked upright, though Clark was sure he'd been seen – or sensed – long ago. He'd have to handle this carefully; if Nightwing felt too threatened, he could easily use the child as a hostage to escape – and Superman wasn't sure the poor kid would survive.

“Nightwing,” he said, outwardly calm though his heart was beating wildly, “what are you doing in Metropolis?”

“Making trouble for Lex,” the other responded nonchalantly, “what else?”

“Don't you think that's for me to deal with?” Clark asked, searching his memory frantically for any sign he'd missed something. Lex wasn't up to anything... was he?

Nightwing sniggered mockingly. “Not if you haven't noticed after three months.”

He hadn't moved away from the girl. In fact, he was standing in front of her as if he were guarding her from Clark. (Preposterous – it wasn't him that would hurt her.) She clung to her false guardian's leg, tear-streaked face turned away from Clark. Mind racing, Clark considered how to get her away from Nightwing.

“Who's your friend?” he stalled, trying to keep his voice even.

“This is Zoe.” Nightwing's face appeared to soften. Though Clark knew it was an act, it was a good one; the slim vigilante's concern seemed almost genuine. Easily, the man swung the child – Zoe – up onto one hip, where she continued to hide her face, this time in his neck. (Of course it was easy to hold her, he regularly carried Robin around, and the little brat was a good three years older.)

“Well, if you're so busy, I can take her home,” Clark said hopefully. Maybe it would be that easy. _Please_ , he thought, _just once in my life let things be easy._

The vigilante hesitated. “I guess...” he trailed off, obviously reluctant to give away his only leverage.

Clark took a risk and stepped nearer, reaching out for the girl. Nightwing went to hand her over, and that was when the screaming started.

“No, no, no!” Zoe yelled, achieving impressive volume for a small seven-year-old. “No, I don't wanna go! Don't wanna!” After that, any attempt at coherence trailed off into incomprehensible shrieks. When Nightwing stopped trying to hand her off, there was silence again.

Nightwing shrugged, but a smug smile tugged at his lips. He may as well be taunting Clark, flashing a neon sign with a testament to the hero's helplessness.

“What did you do?” Clark asked, voice dangerous and very low. “You must have done something to her.”

“Or,” the other countered, “she simply likes me better. I don't think you'll be needed here any longer, _Superman_.”

Clark shifted, unwilling to further annoy a Bat, but not yet ready to let it go. What might happen to the girl if he left? Nightwing was known for his unpredictability – far more than any other Bat, he would behave capriciously, and it was near-impossible to anticipate his actions. It was likely that he'd simply bring Zoe to her home, but what if he didn't? What if one of his seemingly random bouts of madness occurred and he decided to bring her back to Gotham, or even to kill her? Another death would be on Clark's conscience, and this time it would be a child.

“Well, I can accompany you home, then.”

The cruel mirth in Nightwing's eyes told Clark his ploy had been found out, or maybe it had been known all along. “That's all right,” the blue-clad antihero smirked, “I'm sure I can manage.”

“Oh, I insist,” Clark made one last stand. “I'm the host, here – what kind of hero would I be if I let you wander around alone? After all,” he couldn't quite resist, “when I visit Gotham I always get your immediate attention – it would be rude not to offer the same to you.”

Nightwing glared at him. _I know exactly what you're saying,_ his eyes said, _and you're not funny_.

“I. Will. Be. Fine.” he snapped, taking out a grapple and disappearing into the shadows – even though, at midday in Metropolis, there were no shadows to disappear into.

There was no use following. Quite apart from the fact that Clark knew, he just _knew_ , there was kryptonite hidden somewhere in that skin-tight suit, he wouldn't be able to keep up. At some point, Nightwing would find a shortcut or a tunnel or someone's basement, and Clark would overshoot his position, leaving himself terribly, terribly vulnerable.

The Man of Steel slumped against the building, letting his head fall back with a thump. As always, Nightwing had bested him. Or, perhaps more accurately, there had never been a contest in the first place.


	5. The Beginning of Something Great

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy Harper isn't trustworthy. At least, that's the Justice League's opinion... but the Bats might disagree. A visit to Gotham turns into a great friendship. And on a side note, the Batmobile is way too small for four vigilantes to fit into together without extreme awkwardness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, disclaimer time: I don't hate the DC heroes. Even Green Lantern, who's never been a favourite, and who I harped on a bit in the third chapter's AN, isn't that bad. However, for the purposes of this story, the Justice League is somewhat incompetent and/or unobservant. I don't mean any offence to fans of the characters, but this was how the characters developed. It was beyond necessary to emphasize how scary and bad-ass the Bats are in this.
> 
> This chapter is the first to really get into how... not great the JLA is in this universe. So far, I've had overwhelmingly positive reviews (and I'd like to say thanks – I may not always respond, but I always read them) but if you don't like my portrayal, you have no obligation to continue reading.
> 
> Also, a continuation of ages: Roy Harper/Arsenal is Jason's age, so 17; Conner Kent/Superboy is about 19 or 20; Wally West/Kid Flash is also 20; Bart Allen/Impulse is 16; and Jonathan Kent/Superboy is maybe 11.
> 
> Hello again to any loyal followers out there (Jesus, I sound like a cult leader) and welcome to any new readers :) Kay, on with the story!

The League didn't trust him. This, Roy knew for sure. Oliver, his mentor, his _dad_ , didn't trust him either, and that, that stung. They all hid it well, of course, but the side glances and the avoidance drove in the bitter knowledge of their mistrust. He couldn't remember the last time Oliver had confided in him about a mission – or anything else, for that matter.

It started as a creeping thought, always nagging at the back of his mind. _They don't trust the Bats, either. Maybe those of us they don't trust should stick together_. Once he realized that, though, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every day, it was “How can we trust you?” and “You're a liability.” Every day, he wondered if this would be the rest of his life, miserable and hated, but unable to quite cut ties. Something had to give, and one day nearly a month later, it did.

Sundown that day found him in Gotham. He waited on a rooftop, the lurid red of his costume standing out in sharp relief against the lit city skyline. When Red Hood materialized silently out of the shadows, Roy didn't introduce himself, just smiled grimly (and maybe, if he was being painfully honest here, a little hopefully.)

“Got room for one more?”

Red Hood hesitated, obviously about to shut him down, but something made him change his mind. Later, Roy learned (via Alfred, who heard from Bruce, who heard it from Damian, who heard it from Jason) that Hood thought he was an adorable sad puppy who needed cheering up. But that was still far in the future at the time.

“Sure,” Red Hood said finally. “You can join me and Robin.”

That night was the best of his vigilante career. The two Bats moved like a well-oiled machine, and Roy fit right in, whether covering them from a distance or right in there fighting in the thick of things. No more did he have to worry about whether there would be someone covering his back; no more did he have to put up with the barbs about how he wasn't _fast_ enough, wasn't _accurate_ enough, how he needed to be _better_.

Two hours later, Roy lay on his back, panting. His two companions were laughing at him, though Red Hood sat propped limply against a gargoyle and Robin was wheezing on his hands and knees. Somehow, at some point, a simple patrol had turned into a competition, each trying to outrun and outfight the others. Roy had lost. Miserably. For some reason, though, he wasn't too upset about that fact.

He froze when his comm buzzed, easy laughter dying in his throat. His good mood evaporated like morning mist in the sun.

“This is Arsenal,” he answered tensely.

“ _Arsenal, where are you? You didn't show up for patrol today,_ ” The annoying voice of Green Arrow filtered through.

“I'm with friends,” Roy said, struggling to keep his voice even. “I'm fine.”

“ _You can't just run off, Arsenal. How am I supposed to trust you if you don't tell me where you'll be?_ ”

Irrational rage boiled in Roy's chest, but he didn't betray it when he responded, “I didn't think I'd be missed, Green Arrow. I haven't been needed on patrol for a month, now.”

“ _You could be training, or working on research with Felicity_ ,” Oliver said rebukingly. “ _Next time, let me know you're taking the night off. I was worried_.”

_Worried about what?_ he wondered bitterly. _That I was dead in a ditch somewhere? Or that I had gone rogue?_

“Okay,” he told his mentor. “I'll tell you next time.”

He hung up without waiting for a response. “I guess I'd better be going,” he told the Bats regretfully.

“You don't need to.” The deep growl came from behind him, and Roy leapt nearly a foot in the air.

When he whirled, the impressive figure of Batman stood silhouetted against the full moon. He'd known, of course, what the vigilante looked like; he'd even seen him at the Watchtower before. Nothing, however, could prepare him for the six feet and two inches of solid Bat that towered over him, barely three feet away. A moment before, he'd swear he was ready to drop; now, he felt like he could run a marathon if the finish line was anywhere away from Batman.

Only then did he realize what the man had said. “What?”

“You don't have to go,” Batman repeated.

Robin's eyes widened. “Father, what-”

“Robin.” One word, but it stopped the imminent tirade in its tracks. “Arsenal, you look like you need a good night's sleep, and you're not going to get that in _Starling_.” The other city's name was spat with contempt.

Roy wavered. _They don't trust him. They don't trust me, either, though..._

“You're not going to murder me, or something, are you?” he asked, a token protest.

He could swear he saw amusement behind the white eyes of the Batman mask. When the Bat spoke, it was with laughter in his gravelly voice. “No, Arsenal. We are not going to murder you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Robin muttered, but quietly enough to be ignored. Batman gestured to the Batmobile, waiting in the street. “Well?”

Roy hesitated a moment longer. Oliver's voice echoed in his head. _How am I supposed to trust you?_

Grinning mischievously, eyes crinkling beneath the domino, he stood and nodded. “Just so you know, I'm blaming you if Oliver yells at me.”

“Fair,” Batman and Red Hood said together. Robin merely made a disdainful tut, but Roy grinned – he had a feeling that _grumpy_ was the younger vigilante's default setting. He scrambled down to the alley, followed by the unnaturally graceful Bats.

Clambering into the Batmobile, Hood squished into the too-small seat beside him, Robin awkwardly half on his lap, he was struck by a surprising thought. _Maybe this will work out, after all. Maybe I just found someone to trust – and to trust me._


	6. (You Are) My Temporary Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superheroes tend to be bad parents. Batman, of course, is the exception to this rule. When Bruce is awoken in the night, he and his family go exploring to find the young superhero who decided to visit. Gratuitous cuddles ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was done in just two sessions! I'm really happy with it, though, so that's good. It's from Bruce's perspective, which was a bit nerve-wracking, but easy when it actually came down to it. I had so much fun with this! Hopefully I'll keep updating, but it always helps if you give me prompts or suggestions. I may or may not use them, but feedback keeps me motivated.  
> Enjoy!

Superheroes didn't make good parents, Bruce knew. Considering most of them had more than a few underlying issues, it wasn't surprising that they tended to be... harsh. And then, of course, there were more than a few that wanted a sidekick's powers but not their troubles. Oliver Queen was a great example of this; he'd done such a _superb_ job of parenting Arsenal that the young vigilante had run straight to Gotham. Superman, on the other hand, had gone far too far in the other direction, restricting his family's freedom so much that not one but _both_ the Kent boys had rebelled in the only way they knew – by going the one place Clark had forbidden. Gotham.

The two young speedsters who hung around Central City with the Flash were better off than most, but even so – Barry Allen was young, and barely managed to juggle his own problems, let alone two teenagers. In the end, Impulse and Kid Flash both inevitably followed the others to Batman's dark domain. Bruce didn't mind; if he hated kids, he would never have collected four of his own.

So when he woke in the early pre-dawn hours, the subtle knowledge humming in his veins and pulsing in his ears that something was _wrong_ , instead of grabbing a razor-sharp Batarang, Bruce got up and fumbled his way downstairs. He was met in the hall by Dick, half-naked and sleep-rumpled, by Jason, with Roy leaning groggily against his shoulder, by Tim and Damian, still wrapped in opposite ends of their shared blanket, eyes wide and panicked before they fully awoke. Something within Bruce relaxed as he took in his sons; they were safe. They were together. Whoever – or whatever – was downstairs, they could handle it.

If anyone could see the famous Bats now, they would hardly believe they were the same people, Bruce mused as he tripped over the edge of a rug. Gone was the silky-smooth grace and unnaturally lithe movements of a masked vigilante; instead, his boys were simply a group of clumsy teenagers, running into walls and groping for door-handles. In the scant light, they looked like a mob of zombies, arms outstretched in an attempt to spare their faces, shuffling as to avoid taking a tumble.

Pulled out of his head by a vehement curse, startlingly loud in the silent house, Bruce stifled a sympathetic laugh at his second son, impossibly tangled up in the artistically arrayed couch and chairs, his best friend still draped over him. Jason collapsed onto the sofa, rubbing at his bumped knee.

“Goddamn coffee table,” he muttered irritably.

“Kill it with fire,” Roy advised, still very much asleep.

Damian cut in, sneering, “If you'd been more careful, the poor coffee table wouldn't have been in your way. In fact, I think you should apologize.”

“What?” Jason complained, voice rising. “No way! I'm not apologizing to the effing coffee table!”

“Aren't you always telling _me_ to apologize when I do something wrong?” Damian objected. “Why should _I_ and not _you_?”

“Dami's got a point,” Tim chimed in from the other end of their blanket. “I think you should just suck it up and-”

A thump.

Everyone froze, including Bruce, who had gotten so caught up in the debate playing out in front of him that he'd entirely forgotten why they were in the situation in the first place. (Oh, who was he kidding – he was falling asleep against the door-frame.)

The group's slow progress resumed, Bruce at the front, very much regretting not grabbing a weapon. Down the hall, a door creaked open. A light glowed beyond it, and a silhouette appeared.

“Master Bruce? What are you doing up at this hour?”

“Alfred,” Bruce exhaled. “Someone's in the manor.”

“I see,” the butler nodded, ducking back into the room. He reappeared a moment later with his ancient shotgun propped on his shoulder, and made his way to join the little party. “Lead on, Master Bruce,” he said, gesturing to the corridor stretching before them.

The boys following him were silent now, waking up and tapping into the hard-won instincts that lent them dexterity and easy, quiet motions. Ahead, something banged rhythmically against the wall. _Tap, tap, tap_... Bruce eased open the kitchen door and padded inside, socks aiding in his silence.

Out of the gloom, a gravely, tear-rough voice spoke. “I know you're there.”

“Who-” Dick started, but Bruce recognized the owner of the voice.

“Conner? Conner Kent?”

“That's me,” the young Kryptonian agreed. “Not sure i-if I'm a Kent a-anymore, though.” His voice broke in the middle of the sentence.

Bruce hurried over the cold tiles to drop into a crouch beside the huddled teen. Just then, he didn't give a damn whether this boy was his own or his worst enemy's; Conner was just a child in need of comfort, and Bruce would not be the one to deny it. Wrapping his arms around the young man, he held the elder Superboy close.

“What happened?” he asked, choosing to ignore Conner's shaking shoulders.

The younger man shrugged. “Clark threw me out.”

A sharp intake of breath from the dark doorway, and Dick was there, joining the hug. Then, somehow, Tim managed to squeeze between Conner, Bruce and the wall. Across the room, Bruce could practically _hear_ the looks Jason and Damian exchanged, before they too gave in and melted into what had, at some point, become less a hug and more a puddle of tired and cuddly Bats. Then, of course, Roy, unsupported, crumpled on top of them. Bruce freed one arm to wrap around him. The tiles were freezing through thin cotton pajamas, and his toes were certainly complaining, but in that moment, there was nowhere he'd rather be.

The peace was shattered when above them, a flashlight clicked on. In the white, painful light, Alfred looked like an avenging angel. “Master Bruce,” he reprimanded, “I believe it is time for young – and not-so-young – Bats to be in bed.”

Grinning ruefully, Bruce surveyed the boys flopped on the floor. He had to agree; they looked about ready to fall asleep where they were. With a sigh, he set about prodding them up. Alfred was right – they needed sleep. And Conner? Well, they'd figure that out in the morning.


	7. Better Me Than All You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superman and Green Arrow are upset, and Barry's bored. The logical thing, then, is to follow them through the zeta tube and into a confrontation with Batman and their erstwhile proteges. Barry doesn't expect them to win, of course, nobody beats Batman, let alone in his own cave, but still. Even a one-sided fight is more interesting than sitting in the Watchtower with absolutely nothing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Kylifrost14, Septic_Wolf and KaT, all of whom reviewed with suggestions. KaT, I'm very sorry - popcorn did not make its way into the chapter. I'll try to keep it in mind for later, though. Thank all of you very much for your help!
> 
> The writing style is probably a bit different in this one; I wrote from the Flash's perspective, and in my opinion he thinks fast and often off-topic. For those curious, the hamster belonged to one of the younger heroes. After its escape, it found its way into Hal Jordan's bed, where it met a rather gruesome end, as he thought it was a hostile force. Barry is very upset about the hamster.

The League was uncomfortable. Barry could sense their tense energy, their restlessness. Hell, he was _king_ of restless. He once ran from Central all the way to Coast City because he was bored; point was, Barry knew restless. Superman was stressed, walking around scowling and punching things, which was never good for the Watchtower or its residents – once he'd gotten in a fight with Green Lantern, and they destroyed half the observatory – and Green Arrow had retreated to the gym to shoot arrows into perfectly good punching bags. ( _Why don't you have an archery range?_ he'd asked when reprimanded. _Because archery's boring,_ Wonder Woman had replied. He'd shot her. It was really pretty hilarious. Barry wished they'd do the fight thing again, it was fun, and he could play keep-away with them, and- point, Barry. Back on track.)

So when he saw both heroes heading to the zeta tube, Barry couldn't resist dashing over to join them. Superman frowned at him, and Green Arrow complained, “What are _you_ doing here?”

Grinning, Barry responded, “I'm curious, you know? Like really, _really_ curious. So you were going to the zeta tube, and that means something interesting is going on, and I want in! It's boring here. So, so boring. There's, like, _nothing_ to do. But wherever you're going, it's _gotta_ be more fun.”

He was met with the usual blank stares. Making an effort to slow his voice down, Barry repeated, “I was bored and curious.”

As the tube activated, Superman shook his head, but neither tried to get him to leave. Good. Looked like they'd finally learned that trying to keep him out of _anywhere_ was useless. Locks, booby traps, he found a way around all of them. _Wonder when they figured out?_ he thought. _Probably when I stole the Green Lantern ring, that was fun. I should do that again. They haven't caught me yet, means I can step it up, and- oh. We're here._

Here was, in fact, the Batcave. Barry glanced nervously at his companions. He'd always considered himself on good terms with the Bats – or as good as any outsider. They spoke to him willingly, and while he wasn't allowed in Gotham, they occasionally delivered his villains back to Central when said villains had the bright idea of taking refuge in the dark knight's city. Privately, he believed it had to do with the fact that he didn't treat them like monsters. But that didn't mean he wanted to be right in the heart of their territory. Bats were territorial – well, not the wild kind, but the kind of human kind. _Ha_ , Barry laughed to himself. _Human bats. No such thing, of course. Just their name, and that was Bats, not bats, and punctuation was important, Barry._

A growl came from the dark corner where a shadowed doorway led to a hall, then the elevator. “What are you doing here?” Batman asked, materializing out of the gloom. “You know visitors aren't looked on kindly here.”

Superman aggressively squared up with the dark knight. “Well, stealing and brainwashing kids isn't looked on kindly anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Green Arrow agreed, stepping up beside the Kryptonian. “Where are our sidekicks?”

“Don't look at me!” Barry said, waving his hands fast enough to vanish. “I just came 'cause I was bored, I don't know anything about anything. Not with them, not with you, ya know? Just kinda here. Do you have popcorn? I think I want popcorn.”

The other three ignored him. From the same doorway, two figures emerged.

“Hi, _dad_ ,” Superboy said, glaring. Arsenal stood next to him, shoulders brushing up against his friend. Ooh. This was going to get interesting _very_ quickly. Kind of like the time with the hamster, but with less screaming, hopefully. And less blood. Barry considered the collection of heroes stood before him, and rescinded his previous statement. There was definitely going to be screaming and blood. _The poor hamster_ , he thought. Wouldn't stand a chance against these five. Didn't, in fact. Well, not these five, but really _any_ five. It was Green Lantern that time – Barry didn't know how anyone could consider him a hero after what he did to that poor dumb ani-

“Don't forget,” Superboy hissed, “You're the one that kicked _me_ out, not the other way around.”

(Barry had missed something. He definitely was missing something, which was weird, usually the world moved slow enough he caught everything, but-)

“As you can see,” Batman growled, “I didn't brainwash anyone. You two threw away the best thing you ever had, and I got to patch them up. But guess what? I didn't do it for you. I did it because they're kids, and it doesn't matter if they're mine or yours or the Joker's, they deserve love.”

Superman sputtered. “You try raising your clone and your kid _and_ being a superhero at the same time! It's not easy, Batman!”

Even Barry could spot the irony in that statement. Only question was, was Batman going to call him on it? He was.

“I've been doing fine since _you_ threw him out,” the man snarled. “In fact, I've been looking after six kids, and patrolling Gotham, and keeping up my daytime identity – which is more that you can do.”

Green Arrow spoke up for the first time. “Arsenal, you need to stop this,” he snapped. Even Barry could tell you that wasn't a good approach, and he was a _hopeless_ parent. “This little temper tantrum has gone on long enough.”

“ _Temper tantrum_?” Arsenal repeated, voice low and dangerous. “Is that what you call it? You treat me like an object to use at your convenience. Never support me. Never even tell me I did a _good job_. And I thought that was okay, because I never knew any different! Batman and his kids taught me I'm worth something. That I'm a person. I'll stay here, thanks.”

Superboy slid his hand into Arsenal's. “You know how you make us feel?” he asked viciously. “Unwanted. Distrusted. Useless. Like we're absolutely _worthless_. And we have another option now. We don't have to put up with your toxic parenting and all your abuse.”

“Wha-”

“Goodbye, Superman,” Superboy said. By his side, Arsenal smiled. They drew back as one, disappearing into the hall. A moment later, the sound of the elevator filtered through. Somehow, when they weren't looking, Batman had vanished as well. Superman and Green Arrow deflated. Barry blew out his cheeks like a chipmunk, exhaling with a huff.

_Well, it wasn't boring all right._


	8. The Archer's Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week after the confrontation, Oliver Queen realized just how badly he screwed up. As he goes about trying to redeem himself, he finds that Superman may be less cooperative, and that the Flash is truly a wonderful friend. The process will be long and hard, but he's up for it if it means getting his ~~son~~ partner back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, meta time – the chapters aren't in order here. I was never planning on expanding this and adding plot, but it sneaked in all the same. Basically, chapter 1 and 2 take place after chapter 7, but before this one. Let me know in the comments if you want me to reorder them, or if it's okay the way it is.
> 
> Also, Oliver gets his redemption! Confession time, here's what I got: I watched The Flash, and now totally ship Oliver/Barry. There's that one scene in the first episode, where Barry runs to Starling City and Oliver reassures him... It sparked my imagination. This is still mostly gen, but if undertones sneak in, that's why.
> 
> Don't worry, Clark will get his redemption arc soon enough! I'm not as huge a Superman fan, so it's been hard to get the character out of this rut, but eventually I plan on managing it. He's just a bit of an oblivious idiot. (He and Captain America would get along great... hmm... new story?)
> 
> Funnily enough, I kept accidentally writing Oliver as Clint Barton – I think I've been reading too much Marvel stuff! It's probably caused by the fact that they're both snarky, secretive archers, and a favorite character of mine in the fandom.

Starling City lay silent. High above the streets, a flicker of movement could be seen, but the vigilante swiftly traversing the rooftops made no sound. The shadow were his friends – so long as he was careful, nobody would find him here. Stepping out onto the top of a skyscraper, Green Arrow lowered himself to sit slumped on the ledge. Normally, he would be chasing down the latest villain, but crime-fighting was the last thing on his mind tonight.

_Did I make a terrible mistake?_ he thought ruefully. After the confrontation with his former protege, Oliver had spent a tense week running over their interactions in his head, and come to the conclusion that maybe – _maybe_ – he'd been a little harsh. It was never easy for him to open up, and he could see, now, why Roy felt so betrayed. The only question was, how to fix it?

The obvious conclusion was to go to the Bats. They were the ones Roy trusted right now, and while Oliver had no illusions that it would be easy for him to fix this regardless, it would be far harder if he continued to antagonize Batman. Heaving himself to his feet, Oliver leapt off the roof, determined to find one of the Flashes to run a letter in.

Over in Central, he tracked down Impulse and asked the young speedster to deliver an abject apology to both the Bats – for trespassing and being so rude – and to Roy, for being an absolute _ass_ and a terrible mentor. Then, after being thoroughly chewed out by Impulse, he tracked down Flash and recruited the older speedster to deliver said apology.

When he visited the Watchtower the next day, it was with one goal in mind – to talk to Superman. Oliver had a feeling that the older superhero would be far more resistant to apologizing, but it was worth a try. Walking through the doors and into the lounge, though, felt like walking into the lion's den. No more was it a second home; the space station had become a symbol of all Oliver's mistakes, and boy were there a lot.

“Hi, Superman,” he said heavily. “Do you have a moment?”

The alien turned in surprise, though Oliver was sure he'd heard the human vigilante coming ages ago. “Sure, Green Arrow. What is it?”

Conscious of the eyes trained on them, Oliver waved his teammate over, setting a brisk pace for the conference room. Superman soon overtook him; as they walked, Oliver found himself contemplating his companion. The Kryptonian was taller than himself by several inches, and far broader. Made for brute force, not stealth – not that Oliver had been very good at either, lately.

Though he would never admit it, Superman scared Oliver. Of course he did – the man was a temperamental alien with superpowers. _Fuck,_ the archer realized. _I'm about to confront one of the strongest superheroes in the States. How did I ever see this going well?_

“Superman...” he started out. “You know things haven't been... good. With our kids. They're hurt, and they have a right to be. I think... I think it's time to apologize. I've already sent a letter with Flash, and I think you should too. You've lost your kid, and you're never going to reconcile with him unless you figure out what you've done wrong.”

Predictably, Superman didn't react well. Throwing out phrases like, “ _brainwashing monster_ ” and “ _scheming supervillain_ ” in reference to Batman, and “ _sympathizer willing to give up our children for a chance to lick Batman's boots_ ” in reference to Oliver himself, the alien's rage was terrifying to see. Wisely, he took a few steps back, clutching at his bow to ground himself.

When the other hero began striding toward him, Oliver came to the decision that discretion was the better part of valor, and fled without standing on his dignity. Ten minutes later, he was curled up on the observation deck, wondering where things had gone so wrong. Just a month ago, he'd been patrolling with Roy, teaming up with Superman, and on, if not great, at least tolerable terms with the Batfamily.  _What happened_ , he wondered,  _to leave everything in pieces like this? When did we fall apart?_

A rush of air swept across Oliver's face, and a streak of gold flashed ( _ha_ ) before his eyes. The Flash came to a stop, sitting next to his friend and looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

“Hey,” he said, more subdued than Oliver had seen him in years. “What is it?”

Oliver slumped. “I think I fucked up, Barry,” he admitted. “I've never been good with emotions, but with Roy...” trailing off, he tried to find the right words. “He's so young, and so angry. I just want to keep him safe, but I think he took it wrong – like I don't trust him.”

Placing a tentative hand on Oliver's shoulder, Barry sighed. “The question is, Ollie, what does  _he_ want? I doubt he's happy about being kept off the field, and isn't it better to have him where you can look out for him, instead of driving him away?”

“I know,” the archer admitted. “I want him back, and hopefully the letter will at least make a start.” Suddenly remembering said letter, he startled. “You did deliver it, right?”

“I did,” Barry confirmed. “I gave it to Batman, and he said Roy would get it.”

“Thanks for standing by me,” Oliver said to the younger hero. “I've been a dick, and I'm sorry. _I_ wouldn't have stayed friends with me.”

“I couldn't ever leave,” said the speedster softly. “You gave me the courage to become the Flash – to start saving people. I can never tell you how much that meant to me.”

Laughing bitterly, Oliver confessed, “You're a far better hero than I've ever been, Barry.”

“Well, we'll agree to disagree,” Barry smiled.

They stopped talking then, the Flash relaxing for once. Barry leaned into Oliver's side, offering the comfort the archer needed. With a slow smile, Oliver realized how lucky he was, to have a friend like this. What would he be without Barry?

_Nothing good, that's for sure._


	9. Do What I Have To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Situated in a bar, Dick does his best to get information out of a reticent man - and his best is pretty damn good. The vigilante known as Nightwing is very aware of his body, and knows how to use it to his best advantage. At least this guy didn't try to drug him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *NOTE* This chapter mentions several instances of adult women having sex with an underage boy. It also has several adults – including some that are presented as the “good guys” – thinking about sex with a teenage boy. I will try to handle it delicately, but it does suggest sexual assault/abuse. If I get anything wrong or am in any way inappropriate, it isn’t intentional and feel free to correct me. The story will NOT be tagged with "Underage" OR "Rape/Non-Con" as nothing happens on-screen.
> 
> Fun fact: all Dick's aliases have meaning behind them! Jack is a nickname for John (Dick's middle name) and Gray, obviously, is short for Grayson. Rick is short for Richard, and Peter is Jason's middle name. Rob is short for Robert, but also for Robin, and Jackson is Tim's middle name.
> 
> The first time I wrote this chapter, it was pretty dark, and ended on a cliffie with Dick passing out in Bruce's arms from an unknown drug. I didn't like it, so this happened instead. Still has some mature themes, but is less explicit about it. Hopefully you all still enjoy, though it isn't as fluffy as past chapters. 
> 
> Can I just say, I hate Canadian/US spelling conversion. I live in Canada, and spell words appropriately. Pretty much every upload, I have to edit to convert it to US. Usually things like "colour" to "color." In this chapter, it was "signalled" to "signaled" and still it looks wrong.
> 
> Have fun, and one more reminder that you don't have to read this if it isn't your cup of tea!

A brisk wind whistled through Gotham’s empty streets. Smog hung low above the city, and the moon was but a cloudy blur. In Crime Alley, a streetlight – one of the last working – flickered and went out. The woman leaning against it didn’t hesitate, but quickly moved off in search of a better-lit haunt. The dark was dangerous, in Gotham.

Inside a rather dingy bar, a slim figure held court over a gaggle of pub-goers. Feet propped on a table, lounging carelessly across two chairs in a pose that, while hell on his back, showed off his lithe body to best effect, Dick Grayson graced his conversational partner with a slow smile. The young vigilante’s eyes were framed in smudges of dark liner, lashes low on his cheeks as he gave the bar at large rather expert bedroom eyes; his ripped jeans were skin-tight and cut low on his hips, and the crop top currently residing on his torso barely covered his pecs, let alone his belly. ( _Dick hated crop tops_.)

Over an hour had passed already, and only now was the man before him giving up the information Dick needed. Still, he knew patience and cunning better than most, and was willing to do just about anything for the information that would crack this case. Pain and humiliation were passing; what the dozen women currently missing or dead were undergoing was quite definitely permanent.

“Oh, _Jacob_ ,” Dick purred, lowering his voice from his usual easy baritone to a deeper, rough timbre. “Tell me, what did he say then?”

This guy was really too easy. Dick bet he wouldn’t even have to take his pants off to get the information he needed.

“Well,” the guy’s voice was raspy, and not in the sexy way. “He told me to get outta the way, and I did. Might not be very courageous, but with the way he was waving that gun around-”

“Mm, I think you were rather brave already – keeping your cool that way.” Dick arched a little more, ran a hand through artfully disheveled hair, and leaned in a little.

Dick was aware of his appearance, how people lusted after him; how could he not be? He’d been only fourteen years old when Catwoman draped herself over him, purring filthy things in his ear, and slid one perfectly-manicured hand under his shirt. Since he first became Robin, the women of the Justice League had eyed him like a piece of meat, whispering over his body when Batman wasn’t listening.

When Dick was sixteen and slipping into nightclubs with the aid of a fake ID, he’d known what the ladies wanted, when their eyes followed him wherever he went. His body was an advantage, Dick knew, and it was one he exploited at every opportunity. When a case was dragging a little to slow, a few too many lives on the line, he slipped out to a club or bar or street corner, and came back a few hours later with lipstick marks on his skin and the information to crack the case. If anyone asked – and usually they didn’t – he “overheard” it.

It wasn’t just women who found him irresistible, either; men watched him too, passing over the ladies of the night that flaunted themselves on every corner to press up against Dick and pull at his clothes. Dick let them. He let Black Canary press gloss-sticky lips against his neck, and put an extra sway in his step when Superman glanced surreptitiously at his ass. When one of Bruce’s celebrity girlfriends pulled him off to a corner and sucked purple bruises into his neck, Dick didn’t push her away, because she had the intel to crack a kidnapping case that had four victims gone in a week.

His body was an asset. Nothing more. Admittedly, he sometimes wished he was someone – anyone – else. Jason, who could simply shoot anyone who looked at him wrong; Tim, able to hide away with his computers and ignore _people_ ; even Damian, who was still too young to get the looks, thank God. _Someone has to do it,_ he told himself bitterly. _Someone has to play the part, and it has to be me._

Lifting the shot glass still in his hand, Dick sighed when it came up empty. Almost immediately, the half-dozen people watching him signaled for a refill. Frankly, Dick would much prefer a nice cocktail, but this bar was far from classy enough to offer any sort of mixed drink at all. When his informant leaned in, Dick nearly gagged from his breath.

“So, sweetheart, what do you say we get out of here?”

“Mm,” Dick faked a soft moan. “Love to, but I have work tomorrow. How about I give you my number, and we… get together… this weekend?”

The guy grinned lecherously, no doubt thrilled to get a number at all. Too bad Dick had no intention of ever seeing him again. He handed out the number of one of his burner phones – not a Nightwing number, but one he kept purely for his street aliases. Jack Gray, Rick Peters, Rob Jackson… the list went on. Sometimes even Dick forgot them all.

Everyone assumed Jason was the one with the lowlife contacts – and he was. He just scared them. When they needed to curtail the mob’s activity, or when the thugs belonging to one boss or another were causing trouble, Jay could come swooping in and deliver a thorough beat-down. But when they needed info? Then Dick was the one to ask. Sometimes it seemed like he knew every prostitute and street kid in Gotham.

Flowing to his feet in a move that made his back and knees protest sharply – they still weren’t quite back to normal after fighting Killer Croc last week – Dick strutted toward the door, carefully avoiding touch. Yes, he could – and would – do what was needed, but that didn’t mean he wanted every Tom, Dick and Harry rubbing up against him.

The door swung closed behind him, and Dick leaned against the wall, giving himself ten seconds to breathe before he returned home. Bruce would want to know where he was, and Dick had a feeling “on patrol” wasn’t going to fly this time – especially considering he was still supposedly on bed rest. Dick sighed. At least he had the info they needed. The case would be closed, and no one else would die this time.


End file.
